


Things money can't buy

by my_thestral



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 16:40:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3736102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_thestral/pseuds/my_thestral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ron hates being poor... and Draco Malfoy knows that all too well. He presents him with an offer Ron could hardly refuse... but can he get more than his money's worth?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things money can't buy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [monikawitch1986](https://archiveofourown.org/users/monikawitch1986/gifts).



> I wrote this in a day, well, actually two times half a day ;) and it was meant as a gift to the lovely [monikawitch1986](http://archiveofourown.org/users/monikawitch1986) \- Happy birthday, honey! I'm sorry it's a bit pornish and kind of plotless, but it's the best I could come up with on a short note, with my crazy kids lurking about and 2 more fics I'm working on. ;) I'll do better next year and in the mean time, show that cake hell!
> 
> Disclaimer: The wonderful world of Harry Potter belongs to the wonderful mind of JK Rowling, I play for fun, not profit...

If staring at the shop-window in any of the shops in Hogsmeade Village could actually buy anyone anything, Ron and his friends would have already been the most spoiled teenage wizards and witches in the country. He must have been around the village three times on his worn out boots, since Hermione decided she had enough of the bitter cold and escaped to the warmth of the Madam Puddifoot's Tea shop with Ginny. He had reasons enough not to join them.

The frilly interior of the Tea Shop always made him highly uncomfortable, as if he had suddenly entered an unknown area of class, subtle rules of behaviour and girly emotions that came with expectations he didn't know how to live up to. Not to mention, that he was once again broke. Not a knut to spare, not one. He had even come short on the chocolate frog he had tried to purchase earlier, when the hunger, the teenage boy on a growing spurt never really runs from, hit the worse – but the pretty, young witch behind the Honeydukes counter just winked at him and let him have it anyway. Ron had smiled gratefully into her _“Regular customer's discount... Merry Christmas, love!”_ and walked away as fast as he could, the frog devoured before the frosty winter air hit him.

Harry couldn't make it, he was once again stuck taking those stupid pointless lessons with Snape that everyone was so secretive about, besides, no one was too happy seeing Harry leave the relative safety of the Hogwarts castle these days. So it was just Ron, Ginny and Hermione to begin with, and now he was all by himself. He was considering going back to the castle, but he knew there was hardly anyone left behind and since hanging out with Harry was not an option... nah, he'd rather take some cold than hours of boredom and besides, there were plenty of things to look at and to day-dream about, _“one day, when I have money...”_ , as there always were around this festive time in the magical village.

Out of some odd sense of duty he first roamed to the Tomes and Scrolls, though books of any kind held little appeal to him unless they were about Quidditch. But one day, when he has money, he's going to take Hermione in and let her pick any book she likes, nah, just make that a whole shelf of them! His stomach rumbled mercilessly when he passed the Three Broomsticks and the wonderful smell of warm food and Butterbeer floated through the door the gust of wind opened for an instant, so he hurried down the street and stopped at the Spintwithches. The sports accessories shop advertised huge discounts on this year's models of brooms, but Ron was too poor to even _dream_ of buying a new one, so he focused on their fresh-in collection of broom polish and professional-quality knee-pads instead.

His own supply of broom-polish was running dangerously low, while Harry could seriously use some brand new knee-pads, those he had now, were beginning to tear at the straps. He sighed as quietly as he could at the thought of how miserable the presents he had gotten his friends were going to be this year – much like every other – and closed his eyes, cursing this stupid poverty and his own hopeless penchant for spending what little money he had on insignificant little tokens, such as chocolate frogs and dung bombs, to make himself feel a bit better and entertain his friends into liking him.

“Oh, would you look at that... who do we have here?” he heard a familiar drawl behind him and a soundless “ _fuck_ ” escaped him before he could even bother to hold it back. Malfoy. With Merlin-knows how many cronies and, as always, in the company of his stinging wit. He turned half-way to assess the situation. Two, just two of Malfoy's little bitches were by his side and Ron exhaled as casually as he could. He was half a head taller than any of them, thanks to his ridiculous growing spurt this summer and if it didn't come down to wands, he could probably take all three of them. With much damage to himself, of course, but when it came down to Malfoy, Ron didn't think any damage done to himself mattered much. He'd love to get his hands on the skinny git and count his bones. Who'd care about bruised flesh for a pleasure like that?! Besides, everybody knew Zabini fought like a girl and the other guy, Ron couldn't even remember his name, was so skinny, it was a miracle that the brittle gusts of winds didn't blow him away.

“Watch it, Weasley, some of that drool is beginning to freeze on your chin,” Malfoy commented slyly and Ron had to hold back an impulse to wipe his chin with his sleeve; he knew very well how hard they would have howled in laughter if he had slipped up and done it. So he just pushed off from the shop-window as suddenly as he could and took two threatening steps towards them with his endless legs - and sure enough their instincts worked in his favour and they retreated a hasty step away from him and drew their wands.

“Oh, my... no Potter... what is the Saviour busy with these days, huh? Never mind, I guess it's just you then, poor boy, and I hope you can count to three!” Malfoy commented coldly, but with a little tinge of satisfaction Ron noticed that at least his dismissive smirk had melted off his face.

“Oh, I can count to three times thirty if you like!” he replied heatedly. “That's about the amount of all of your teeth combined and unless you want my fist to reduce this number to nil, I suggest you all bugger off!” he barked through the clenched teeth. “Can't you even leave a man alone when he's shopping?” he threw in for good measure, but that, unfortunately, was a mistake.

The howling laughter was the immediate result.

“Shopping?! You?!” Malfoy exclaimed as happily as if the Christmas had come early. “Do say, what are you going to buy, beggar boy?! Is his majesty Potter out of the latest brooms? Does your Mudblood little bitch of a girlfriend need another stack of books to read? And how, if you please, are you going to pay for all those wonderful things you're going to buy, oh, Mr. Secret Millionaire?” Malfoy asked grinning, sarcasm dripping off his words, and in a sudden surge in confidence, made a step closer towards the redhead.

And Ron couldn't do a damn thing. He couldn't run, that would be admitting defeat and he'd rather freeze to death than let Malfoy gain an inch of ground, so he merely gripped his wand with his freezing fingers and watched the blond approach him warily.

“Only if they let you pay with freckles, you spotted ginger freak,” Malfoy hissed with quiet malice, when he was close enough for Ron to see his own face reflect in the grey of his eyes.

“I wonder...” he continued quietly and the under-current of slyness raised the hairs on the redhead's neck. “I wonder what would you be willing to do for, say, twenty galleons.”

Twenty galleons... All the presents Ron bought for his friends and family this Christmas didn't come up to that and just the thought of it, of what he could do with it, set a slow fire of longing burning somewhere under his chest. He's never had that kind of money.

“Would you be willing to... perform for me, pauper? Pay me some homage? Suck me off?”

His last words were so quiet, they were nothing but a hot moist breath caressing the frozen skin on Ron's face, sending shivers down his spine. No one else could have heard them. No one else would ever know. It would just be them, something between them, he'd make sure of that. And he would have twenty galleons. To spend, to indulge, to buy his friends and family proper presents with. Twenty galleons. 

“Fuck you!” he spat quietly, desperately, staring down those incomprehensible grey eyes. Fuck him... him and his money. What was he after anyway!? “Fuck you!” he shouted louder, bitterly, as he pushed past him and headed for the castle as fast as he could.

“Fifty,” he heard a calm drawl behind him. “My offer still stands and it's fifty now.”

“Fifty what?” he heard Zabini's voice spiked with interest. “And what for?”

Ron all but ran now, but the gust of wind still brought Malfoy's answer to his ears.

“None of your business, Blaise. I just made Weasley an offer I doubt he can refuse.”

~

Ron was distracted the whole time during dinner in the Great Hall. As hungry as he was before, he was only picking at his food with no proper interest and it was right lucky, that Hermione and Ginny felt chatty this evening. Hermione was busy questioning Harry about his lessons with Snape and Ginny slipped into a heated discussion with Dean why was Quidditch so, so much better than the Muggle football, he seemed to be fascinated with. So Ron was pretty much left to his own thoughts. His eyes kept on darting towards the Slytherin table and somehow, as if he was cursed, he saw the grey eyes staring back at him every bloody time, as if the blond git never took them off him that evening. It was unnerving, it was making him jittery and he wasn't hungry any more anyway.

He made ready to leave, when he caught the last of Hermione's conversation with Harry:

“You know they have this really nice book on Occlumency at the book store in Hogsmeade. Perhaps I could ask my parents to send me my allowance early and we'll see if it's of any use to you.”

“Harry doesn't need another book, Hermione,” he heard his sister laugh in response. “He's never even read the ones he was supposed to! What he could use, though, are new shin-protectors and Merlin knows, if he wears those knee-pads one more time, he's not finishing the game with his kneecaps still intact, the Slytherins will make sure of that!”

Ron mumbled something about headache and wanting to lie down and practically ran away from the table against the loud protesting of Hermione that “ _Books are important...!_ ” and Harry's nervous, apologetic laughter.

This was just... bloody awful. Knowing that it was in his power to get the money, more money he's ever had, was clouding his judgment and driving him spare and oh, so very torn he could not think straight. All those things he had wanted for his friends – within his reach and... no one would ever have to know.... except he would know and Malfoy would and Ron didn't think he could bear it...

He barely turned a corner when he felt him on his feet and he just knew it was him, without ever turning his head; he knew it because all of the hairs on the back of his neck had prickled. He tried to walk faster but it seemed as the skinny fucker didn't mind running after him, if it was going to get him what he wanted.

“A hundred,” he heard him say, a tad breathless, and the redhead stopped as if he had hit the brick wall and turned around with an incredulous look in his eyes.

“One hundred galleons,” the blond said as coolly as his heaving chest allowed. “I'll give you one hundred galleons if you suck me off and no one ever has to know. I'm prepared to make an Unspeakable Vow if you ask it of me. But I want it. A hundred, Weasley,” he stepped closer to Ron and the enticing voice did a bad job masking a predatory gleam in his eyes, nearly silver in the weak candle-light above the dark alcove in the abandoned hallway they found themselves in. “One hundred shiny golden galleons... all yours to have... to spoil yourself and your friends with... what do say, hm? Are you game?”

And then something broke inside of Ron. With a frustrated roar he pounced on the slimy git, knocking him backwards into against the wall – and kissed him.

~

This... was not going the way it was supposed to. He was not supposed to be pressed against the wall with Weasley's mouth stealing his every breath and making him light-headed and.... oh, boy... it was magical... he didn't just moan, did he? Oh, boy... so not happening.

He had planned it so meticulously. He had made sure he had Weasley cornered, he knew how vulnerable his poverty made him and he was determined to have his fun with him. He would have Harry Potter's right wing man on his knees in front of him, even if it cost him his annual allowance; he would see Weasel humiliated, serving Draco's deepest, most deprived fantasy with his mouth and he would never, ever let him forget it. But Weasley, the stubborn fucker that he was, wouldn't cooperate. He was not on his knees, he was not having his mouth fucked in a brutal, most humiliating way Draco imagined when he wanked furiously and... this was not working. _He was in control_. That evil ginger giant was actually in control and Draco just let him. But _godohsweetfuckinggod_... he found it impossible to resist.

That soft, red, generous mouth that started creeping into his dreams uninvited moths ago, was finally invading him with no mercy and he was defenseless against it's inviting warmth; helpless against the slick toying tongue, brushing against the seam of his mouth shyly until he just gave in and welcomed the wonderful usurper as if he would die if it didn't come. The sounds he was making when Weasley's talented tongue licked the sanity out of his mouth, were beyond embarrassing, because this, here, was where his imagination didn't dare go, but some clenched frustration inside of him recognized it beyond all doubt and released a tremendous rush of hot, bone-melting lust and raw want down his body, making him whimper in need.

“Weasley...”

Merlin, there was begging in his voice, if not in his words just yet, and he had to put a stop to it, he had to, he had to...

But then just like that, the gorgeous, heavenly mouth was gone and he simply hissed in frustration; he couldn't have that, he couldn't be without, couldn't.... A tiny voice in his head screamed at him to use the distraction, to run while he could, to hide from the crazy redhead and his debauching mouth, but he no longer paid any attention to it, because he couldn't... he couldn't, he needed it too much, he needed more, he needed...

“Let me give you your money's worth...” a hot, moist whisper caressed his ear and he felt every nerve in his body coming to life when that soft, luxurious tongue began painting a slow, maddening trail from the tender spot under his ear, down the aristocratic, endless neck - and burning with yearning for more contact he offered it to him, to have the marble skin marked and owned, the way he never let anyone do it. He had barely ever kissed a person until now... and now this...

“Ohhh...” was the only desperate, torn thing out of his mouth a moment later, when the wet, plush lips feasted on his pulse, while the strong fingers tore his robes down the middle, sending gilded, custom-made buttons in all directions. The adept digits came in straight for the kill, immediately seeking out his taut pink nipples, hovering above them just for a moment, until the pink flesh trembled underneath them in anticipation of the touch... but once the Quidditch-hardened thumb and forefinger closed around them, there was no mercy. Weasley clearly knew what he was doing and Draco had a passing thought if he was, perhaps, doing it to himself and he very nearly came right there.

Rubbed gently and tweaked into bursting hardness, the slightest touch of the rosy peaks had his body arching off the wall and he was painfully aware of the blood surging against the sensitized hardened pebbles, standing to attention against the abused, silken fabric of his shredded school-shirt. When the soft mouth sought them out at long last, encircled them and began sucking on the injured flesh lightly, he had no way of saving himself.

An incredulous, heated “ _fuck_ ” accompanied Weasley when he finally sank onto his knees, because he was just a sight for gods like this, wasn't he, arching his long neck backwards and up Draco's body to be able to reach the needy little buds of hot life and lust, and toy with them some more. He licked each of them lovingly, thoroughly, like an obedient puppy and then sucked them in his mouth with force as if he was hoping to draw something out of them and the erotic combination of strong white teeth and flickering tongue had Draco rock his hips against Weasley's torso mindlessly and pant like a bitch in heat. This was.... incredible. He had no idea it would be like this, when he started it, no idea.... This was _so_ much better than his pathetic attempts of self-pleasing, so... oh... bloody... much... better... oh, please...

He was chasing his release already, that much he knew, his cock was already staining his trousers and pressing against the fabric with painful force and he was terrified he would lose a battle with his own eager body, before Weasley's mouth even found  way to where he needed it the most. But finally the hard fingers brushed against his nubs roughly, as if saying goodbye and the redhead sat down on the balls of his feet. The strong hands slid down his sides, firm, warm, calloused and just fucking incredible -and stopped somewhere around his waist. While the thumbs massaged the tender flesh between his sides and his belly-button in slow, circular movement, as if the Gryffindor hasn't yet decided if he should really do this, Draco realized he could no longer imagine not going through with it. He had wanked far too many times with the fantasy of pumping into that red, swollen, obliging mouth wrapped around his desperate cock, he needed it out of his head, now fucking now, or he may never get another chance.

“Just get on with it!” he hissed and moaned at the same time, when the redhead's cheek brushed against the strained, wet fabric of his trousers and his hips jerked in need of further contact.

“Should I?” Ron whispered innocently and the blue eyes that stared up at him were filled with a dare and a quiet edge he's never seen before. Weasley had the upper hand and he knew it. Draco has never seen his eyes so deep and brilliant as they were in this moment and for some reason his heart ached for his surrender. They closed again and Weasley's other cheek brushed against his strained erection, gently, slowly, almost as if he enjoyed it, and Draco's stupid befuddled mouth just blurted out a breathless:

“Two hundred. I'll give you two hundred fucking galleons, just... fuck... just go on.”

He didn't even have this kind of money, not on him anyway, but if Weasley had asked for half of his inheritance in this moment, he would have given it. Somehow it became essential for Draco Malfoy to be sucked off by Ron Weasley and there was no way back, because Ron Weasley knew it. And at first he didn't say anything. The long digits just slipped on top of his erection and squeezed gently and the blond could no longer stop a wanton “ _fuck_...” when they caressed the stained fabric almost matter-of-factly and the redhead looked him in the eye.

“Wrong words,” he spoke in a voice just above the whisper. “What do we say, when we want something?”

And he opened his cursed, decadent mouth and began mouthing the fabric on top of the hard bulge and the wetness and the warmth of those full, soft lips just made the words explode from Draco's mouth:

“Please... please, please, fucking please...”

“Please, what?” Ron said quietly as his fingers began toying with the button and the zipper and Draco was nearly there, so close to that plush warm nest of his mouth that he could barely think of what it was that Weasley wanted from him.

“Please, suck me off, _pleasepleaseplease_... I need it, you have no idea... _yesfuckyes, ohgodfuckinggod_...” 

“If you say so...”

He was finally free... and then he wasn't. The moment his cock sprang from the confines of his trousers, Ron lost no time getting them out of the way. He pushed the offensive fabric over the buns of his arse in one liquid motion and in the next moment the starved, needy cock already plunged into the hot, wet cavity with no brakes, the generous mouth devouring him all the way from the dripping tip to the swollen root and he couldn't stop a loud, wanton howl if his life depended on it. This was... oh, this was... way too good...oh, bloody brilliant...

Those large, strong hands anchored his hips, but other than that, there was no restraints, just the tight, all-surrounding velvet of that hot, juicy hole with the silken tongue slapping across his sensitive flesh that made him cry out every time he plunged forward, and he got to fuck it the way his wildest fantasies wouldn't allow it. Weasley was a bloody cock-sucking god, his large mouth was made for melting a hard, bursting shaft into cream, and somehow the gorgeous, bloody man just knew how to do this, how to make him see fucking stars in front of his eyes. He looked down at the fiery head and he was surprised to see his own hands tangled in his hair tightly as if he found a treasure he was unwilling to let go off. The sight of his own cock ramming in and out of that god-forsaken swollen mouth, wrought an involuntary, heated “ _Merlin, please..._ ” out of him, bringing him so close to the edge, he just wanted to explode... but he barely held back, because it was just too fucking good, because he was never getting any again.

With the long auburn eyelashes throwing soft, purple shades down the pale, freckled cheeks, Ron was a vision, and it was this sight that sent a strange pang of jealousy and hurt down Draco's body like Fiendfyre. Potter got this... this boy... buried in his lap at night, every night if he wished to, this can't have been his first time doing this, no way in hell he was that good without practice - and what did he have!? Crabbe and Goyle grunting in their beds and Blaise with his half-hearted, shady offer “ _you know, if you ever need a hand..._ ” and clammy hands...

“You slut...” he growled and felt the knot of frustrated release clutch tighter in his belly. The golden heat was rising from the pit of his crotch coiling like a waking viper and he knew he wasn't going to last. “I bet you do it all the time, I bet you... fuck, no, don't... fuck... what now?!”

He was so close, he could nearly feel his load dripping off the tip of his cock, yet it was no longer sliding down that wonderfully tight, fleshy corridor that reduced him to grunts and whimpers, Weasley had let him slide out and just watched him with bright eyes and damaged, swollen lips, looking every bit like sin personified and Draco had never felt like fucking someone more in his life. The soft, warm breath was still teasing the tip of his heavy, pulsating cock and he felt like he had to come or he would never be able to again, without picturing Weasley's blue eyes.

“You want it.... you ask for it, Malfoy... nicely,” the redhead said just a big out of breath and then kissed the tip of his cock gently, almost lovingly, as if he wanted to give it to him, but really couldn't. The strong, long arms held the Draco's hips hostage as they bucked forward in search of the absolving heaven of his mouth and every second became unbearable.

“Ask for it and say my name.”

Fucking Weasel, was he mad or what?! What the hell was he on about? Why would he want to say his fucking name?! He just wanted to fuck his mouth so badly it was driving him spare and he couldn't think straight so needy and frustrated. The despair made the Slytherin brutal.

“Fuck you, you Potter's little bitch, I'm paying you, am I not!? Do your fucking job, finish it or I'll let everyone know what a cock-sucking whore you are!” he hissed menacingly but his words kind of lost their edge when he moaned helplessly at the contact of slick tongue teasing gently down his slit.

“Say it, Malfoy, it's all I want... Or I swear that's it for you... you'll come no further.”

“Please... Ron,” Draco seethed through the gritted teeth and felt as if he had damned himself with that single broken sentence. But his breath hitched when the redhead moaned quietly, as if hearing his name from his mouth was somehow making him ecstatic and that warm, wanton sound was something else all together, it was bone-melting, mind-boggling and completely addictive. He wanted to hear it again.

“Please, let me fuck your mouth, Ron,” he whispered frantically, obediently, because he would have done anything, just about any fucking thing to make that sound come out of his mouth again and he wasn't disappointed. It did come, just as needy and as urgent as before, and now the decadent, worshiped mouth opened finally, at long fucking last, and granted him access to its mind-blurring warmth. And once he was inside the heavenly cave once again, the words came rushing out of his mouth like a poisonous flood and he couldn't stop them, his mind finally and successfully turned into a pile of goo and every word impossibly liberating:

“Let me have it, Ron, please let me have it... It's all I ever dream of, your mouth on my cock, and I can't think straight when I'm around you. I've been planning this for weeks, I can't let you get away... God, you're a vision... please, Ron, please... I'll say anything... I'll do... I'll do you after, just, please, please let me come, I need it so badly, I need you, you have no idea...  _ohChristandMerlin_ , Ron...!!!”

The soft mouth, cradling his tortured cock just closed around him tightly and Ron hummed, that wanton, needy sound again, that sent vibrations down his body like shock-wave of electricity and snapped the thin chain, holding his release at bay. With one final shove and a howl “ _Ron!!!_ ”, Draco Malfoy came down Ron Weasley's mouth and he kept coming and coming and shaking and then coming some more. He's never come so brutally in his life and everything went black around him with a tremendous force of his release.  When he finally came back to a shaky and out-of-focus reality, he realized he had slid down the wall and he was staring straight into the pair of blue eyes.

Ron said nothing. When he saw the sense return into the grey eyes, darkened with lust to near anthracite, he got up slowly and turned to walk away. And that was... wrong. Something was wrong.

“Wait...”

Ron turned towards him half-way, with an eyebrow raised questioningly and Draco, still panting, somehow produced a crumpled pouch from his robes.

“Take it...” he threw it at him and added quickly. “It's all I have for now. I'll get you the rest later. The whole two hundred of it. Merlin knows you've earned it...”

He saw him frown, but he couldn't take his eyes off the pretty, abused mouth that could make an addict out of him and before he could stop himself, his liquefied brain had him blurt out: “God that mouth of yours...  You're an expensive habit, Weasley... but goddammit... you're worth every galleon.”

Ron just stared at him, sprawled against the wall, panting and completely boneless – and suddenly he smiled; one of those slow, sexy, predatory smiles spread across his face like a warm tide and knocked what little breath he had out of Draco.

“Keep your money, Malfoy,” he said quietly in his deep, no longer boyish voice and smiled once again smugly at the shocked Slytherin's face. “I only did it to hear you beg... and to say my name when you do. There are some things money can't buy.”

“Fuck you, you... cheap whore!” the blond spat behind him, hopelessly trying to mask how devastated and utterly defeated he felt.

But Ron just looked at him, almost thoughtfully, as if he was trying to take his measure, and spoke just as quietly, but with a  tiny edge in his voice, that wasn't there before:

“Oh, you would, wouldn't you? If only I gave you half a chance. You said everything I wanted you to say when I had my mouth around you. Imagine how I could make you feel if we _actually_ fucked...”

“You bastard...” Draco exhaled, because all his usual snark and the last of his defiance ran out of him at the mental image.

And suddenly the Gryffindor seemed to have changed his mind and the long legs moved towards him, until he was towering above the blond, still sprawled helplessly against the wall. Fuck him, if he knew where his wand even was, the Slytherin thought emptily, his mind still kind of numb from the dreadful realization that Weasley didn't want his money. And then a long silken red snake landed on his chest and as he recognized Weasley's Gryffindor tie, he looked up into the blue eyes in complete lack of comprehension.

“Next time you're willing to... ask for it... nicely, you're going to have to wear this to the Great Hall,” Ron told him quietly and only when he got up, the blond noticed an unmistakable bulge in his trousers. “I reckon you owe me a round... after all, you promised,” the redhead smirked slowly in a way that got Draco's blood boiling for all the wrong reasons, and left.

He could hear him whistle all the way down the hallway.

~

The next morning Draco Malfoy had hexed six people before he made it to the Slytherin table in the Great Hall. When Blaise opened his mouth to say something, Draco paid him such a dark look that he changed his mind in an instant and kept it shut. But Pansy was less considerate.

“Well, well, well... I never thought I'd see the day... Draco Malfoy with a Gryffindor tie around his neck. I didn't think they could pay you enough to do that!”

Right after an obnoxiously big pie flew straight into her face, Draco just paid another dark look to the Gryffindor table and locked his eyes with the blue, smiling ones.

“One of them did it,” he growled unhappily. “He... they must have hexed them... they're all red,” he lied smoothly and nearly growled again when he saw Ron Weasley bit his lower lip and licked jam off it, never taking his eyes of him. He was doomed if he went on like that, somebody was bound to notice, so he tore his eyes away from his forcefully and focused his dismissive glare on the squealing Pansy:

“You should know better, you stupid bint: there are some things money can't buy.”


End file.
